


Into the Fold

by HeyMurphy



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Wedding Fluff, a lil' raunchy talk, implied Nathan/Abigail, implied past magnus/pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: Pickles' and Charles' wedding nearly three years post-Doomstar. There's cake! Dancing! And Magnus! :D Oh boy!
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer, Magnus Hammersmith/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Into the Fold

**Author's Note:**

> i fully admit that i'm not satisfied with this but if i keep editing it i'm going to end up scrapping it and i don't want that! ;0; i hope you enjoy in any case! (and thank you Dave for the SnB song title!!)

The ceremony flew by so fast. Pickles, do you. Charles, do you. You may now kiss the husband. 

In reality it must have been longer, and later when he got the recordings back he’d watch again and again just to make sure this was real, actually happening, and not just a prolonged hallucination. He was fucking married now. He’d somehow managed to find the love of his life, to not mess it up too badly along the way, and Charles had stood there under a trestle of flowers and lace and sworn in front of family and friends they’d be together forever. Shit was wild.

Nathan’s best man speech predictably bombed with everyone but Pickles, who slapped the table and howled at every awkward raunchy comment and dumb in-joke. Charles hadn’t picked a best man, but Murderface took it upon himself to stand up after Nathan and wax poetic about the band’s history and meeting Charles for the first time, and actually, it wasn’t a bad bit. 

After the speeches came dinner. And after dinner came the wedding cake, an elaborate red velvet in buttercream chosen by Charles because Pickles hadn’t been able to decide. Wasn’t his fault all cake was good. They fed each other pieces for reasons Pickles still didn’t know, but it was worth it to make a mess of that stupidly handsome face and then lick the stray frosting from his lips. Charles blushed and scolded him quietly about decorum as everyone laughed. 

“Charlie,” Pickles said close to his ear, “all my decorum’s goin’ into not tearin’ you outta that suit and bendin’ you over this table.”

Charles mopped at his brow with a cocktail napkin. “For Christ’s sake, my mother’s here.”

At least _Pickles'_ mother wasn’t there. Or his father. They’d refused to make the trip to Fiji because he hadn’t offered to pay their way. Australia’s just next door, however, and even though Charles had spent the better part of a weekend trying to convince Pickles not to extend an invite to Seth, he extended an invite to Seth, and Seth had flown out. Thankfully Amber and Robbie made him slightly more palatable to deal with. But Seth wasn’t even the guest he’d been most worried about. No, that honor went to Magnus.

To the guy’s credit, he was keeping a low profile and staying out of people’s way, as much as someone his height _could_ stay out of people’s way. He even showed up in a shirt. In a whole _suit_. Good for him. He and Toki sat together at a far table alone, pleasantly eating cake under one of the hanging lanterns, and well, Pickles was happy for them he supposed. Even if Nathan and Abigail were enjoying themselves on the opposite side of the lawn, and even if Murderface and Skwisgaar kept looking over at Toki like they missed him. Because they did miss him. Everyone did.

“You’re doing it again,” Charles told him later for the third time and took a sip of champagne. “Stop staring at them, dear. Let them be. They’re fine.”

“I know, it’s just…” Pickles grumbled, unable to put words to what he was feeling.

“Come on.” A kiss pressed to his temple. “Looks like they’re nearly ready for us to start.”

It wasn’t their first dance. Not even close. But something about the darkening sunset over the beach and Charles’ warmth and Nathan’s surprisingly lovely rendition of Snakes ‘n Barrels B-side “On the Road Tonight” hit him right in his soft little heart. He was a fresh twenty again, looking across a sea of faces from the stage and seeing the one that would follow him for the rest of his life.

_On the road tonight and I wish you were here_

_You break up my clouds till my sky is clear_

_You’re right by my side when I think of you, baby_

_Though my heart’s still missing your touch like crazy_

Probably the worst lyrics Pickles had ever written, but the emotions and the memories they stirred were overwhelming, and everything started to blur together as he welled up with tears.

“Don’t you start,” Charles said, the delicate lights overhead shining in his damp eyes.

“Sorry.” Pickles sniffled and started to laugh. “D’you remember that night?”

“Always will. You were, ah...quite beautiful up there.” Charles squeezed his hand and drew their bodies closer. “And you’re _still_ beautiful.”

“Charlie…” Chin quivering, Pickles somehow held it together until the end of the song, but then they kissed and he fell apart and the reception party kicked into full swing. 

After a few more dances, they left the floor and stood by the punch bowls to make small talk with people and thank them for coming. Charles’ mother couldn’t stop fawning over the both of them, and she insisted on taking photos on her phone like it was prom night even though Charles reminded her they’d hired a professional photography team who were doing a spectacular job.

Over her shoulder, Pickles spied the table in back again. Magnus and Toki held hands as they watched the others dance, and Toki bopped his head along to the 80s hits Knubbler played. Once Charles’ mom seemed content with her photos, he kissed Charles on the cheek and promised he’d be right back.

“Pickles, really.”

“ _Right_ back, I swear.”

He crossed through the dancers, having to pause at least a dozen times to say hello and thank you to someone. But he finally reached the table, and when Magnus realized Pickles was heading right for them he actually looked nervous.

“Pickle!” Toki leapt up and scooped him into a ferocious hug that knocked some of the little white flowers from his dreadlocks. “Ams _so_ happies for you and Charles! And everythings ams _so_ pretty!”

“Thanks, dood.” Pickles hugged him back tight, pulled away, gripped his hands. “Hey, we’ll talk more in a bit, but you mind if I sit with ol’ Mags for a minute? Just us two?”

Magnus shifted in his chair, uneasy, but Toki didn’t notice. 

“Oh sures, pal. Needs to go talks to Skwisgaar anyways.”

Toki kissed Magnus on the forehead just above his blind eye, then leaned in and kissed his mouth. Pickles had never seen them kiss before in all this time, and it felt fine, somehow. More fine than he would’ve thought. Huh.

Pickles took Toki’s chair, and for a moment neither of them said anything, just watched that long brown hair disappear into the crowd. Magnus cleared his throat and gulped down the last of his—was that Sprite? “Dood, are you not drinkin’?”

“No. Not for, uh, two years.”

“Woah.” 

“Five months. Twelve days.”

Pickles started to snicker.

“Eighteen hours. Twenty-two minutes.”

“Ten seconds,” Pickles chimed in. “Eleven, twelve, thirteen.”

“Exactly,” Magnus said.

“Yeah, I get it. Tried to do that a buncha times, never got too far.” Pickles clapped him gently on the back. “Congrats.”

“Uh, thanks. Is everything...okay?”

Pickles furrowed his brow. “Yeah, why?”

“Thought maybe you were coming over here to, well—” Magnus rubbed his thumb on the edge of the glass. “I just—I didn’t want to have to leave.”

“Leave? Dood, I’m not kickin’ you outta here. Chill. I said you could come and that’s that.”

Magnus nodded and visibly relaxed, the anxiety easing from the creases around his eyes. Did he seem a little fuller in the face, or was it just because his hair was pulled back? “And again, I really appreciate the favor, Pickles. If only for Toki’s sake. This was so important to him.”

“Hey, no prob.” Gazing out again into the dancing mass of people, Pickles found Toki standing on the fringes with Skwisgaar and Abigail, beaming from ear to ear, an arm around Abby’s shoulder. “He sure is somethin’ else.”

“He’s the best person I know.”

“Well, you should dance with him, then.” 

Magnus’ eyes swiveled to the right to regard him curiously. “That’d be okay?”

“Why not? It’s my fuckin’ wedding, ain’t it? When’d you get so self-conscious anyway? I remember you practically throwin’ my ass onto the dance floor when we used to go out.”

“And that was a _long_ time ago.”

Pickles grinned and shook his head. “Yeah.”

“Just don’t wanna push my luck, I guess. That’s all.”

“Dood, you’re fine. Promise.”

“All right.”

A beat passed between them and Pickles realized he hadn’t stopped grinning. “This is kinda neat, huh? The two of us talkin’ again, all old and shit.” He took a deep breath of warm sea air and sighed. “We should do it more.”

Magnus made a small sound of agreement. “I’d like that.”

“Welp—” Pickles slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Lemme go grab Toki, and then I wanna see y’all out there soon, awright?”

“Will do, man. And hey, congrats on you two finally making shit official. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Thanks, dood.” Sudden nostalgic affection took hold of Pickles then, and he touched Magnus’ arm. “You’re lookin’ real good, by the way, Mags. Like, healthy. And you just seem...I dunno, dood. Happier, maybe. It’s cool to see after, y’know...all the crap that happened.”

Magnus glanced at the hand on his arm and then at Pickles, and something in his expression softened, made him look younger. “I _am_ happier,” he said, and with an earnest smile he added, “Kinda crazy what some therapy and love’ll do to a guy, huh.”

The way he said that, so freely, no shame or sarcasm—Pickles knew he was going to be okay. He and Toki would both be okay. Later, when he caught sight of the two of them slow dancing to Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” of all fucking songs, he elbowed Charles in the ribs and they watched from their chairs, tired from the long day.

“I’m glad we did this, Charlie.”

“The wedding?”

“A’course _that_ ,” Pickles said, giving him a kiss. They’d both had too much champagne. Or maybe just the right amount. “I mean sayin’ yes to Toki when he asked if Magnus could come.”

“Ahh.”

“You’re still not nuts about it.”

Charles tilted a flattened hand back and forth, grimacing a little.

“Well,” Pickles said, “someone was gonna have to extend the olive branch eventually. Shit’s changin’, chief. We gotta change with it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” And Charles gathered him in nice and close. “My darling husband.”

“Oh gahd, I’m your _husband_ ,” Pickles echoed, letting his head loll onto Charles’ padded suit shoulder as he took it all in. “Holy shit, does that mean I can be Pickles Offdensen now if I wanna be?”

Charles went quiet and pink. “D-Do you, ah...want to be?”

Pickles just kissed him again, deeper this time, and decorum be damned. 

“ _HEY!_ ” 

Oh, that was a very familiar scream. And a very familiar furious face. _Great_.

Seth staggered into their table, eyes bloodshot and cheeks ruddy from too much punch. “Hey, you fuckin’ piece’a shit brother’a mine, I been doin’ real good keepin’ my fuckin’ mouth shut about you not makin’ me your best man, and I—” He blinked and noticed Charles. “Ohh, hey there, Chuck. Or should I call you Bill now, haha. You fuckin’ get it? Like brother-in-law. B-I-L—well, I guess just the one L, hm—what, uh...what was I fuckin’ talkin’ about’?” 

Charles started to rise to take care of it, but Pickles put a hand on his thigh and got up. “Nah, lemme handle this.” He took Seth by the arm and led him gingerly back to Amber, patting his elbow and humoring him the whole way there. She looked up from her phone as Seth came into view and rolled her eyes.

“God,” she sighed. “Sorry about him.”

“Aw, it’s fine.” Pickles let him go, and he collapsed into his wife’s arms.

“I wanna go take a fuckin’ nap, baby…”

“Okay, okay.” Amber looked around. “We should probably be getting back to the room. It’s way past Robbie’s bedtime. And Seth’s, too, apparently.”

“Where _is_ Robbie? Could’a sworn I saw him runnin’ around earlier.”

A screeching giggle made them both turn their heads, and there was Toki with Pickles’ six-year-old nephew on his shoulders, bounding around the dance floor as Magnus looked on, a hand over his mouth to hide his amusement. And Pickles got an idea. Another olive branch.

“Magnus,” he called, “Toki, c’mere.”

Toki galloped little Robbie over to his family and Magnus followed hesitantly after them. “Hey, Pickle! You needs us?”

“I do, in fact.” Pickles motioned to Amber, who grunted and shifted Seth’s nearly-dead weight. “Mags, you know my lovely brother, Seth. You mind carrying his drunk ass—uh, I mean—” He flashed a wincing grin at his nephew. “Your daddy’s _real sleepy_ , Robbie.”

Robbie didn’t seem very convinced. 

Magnus approached Amber with some amount of caution, introduced himself, and slung Seth over his back like a guitar case, fixing his positioning with a little bounce. “Oh, he’s a light one.”

“Yeah,” Amber agreed, and Pickles thought maybe she’d smiled for a second, “he’s mostly hair and suit.” 

She said her goodbyes and left with Toki and Robbie close at her heels, but Magnus lingered. 

“I see what you’re doing,” he said.

Pickles squinted at him. “And what am I doin’, Mags?”

“You’re trying to rope me into social shit. Trying to...I dunno, bring me into the fold or something.”

“Y’think it’ll work?”

Magnus huffed a laugh through his nose. “No.” He jostled Seth and turned in Amber’s direction, though he peered back at Pickles, the corner of his mouth drawn in a thin smile. “But I appreciate the effort.”

Pickles let him leave, hoping his brother wouldn’t be too much trouble. Hoping Nathan and Abigail might come around someday. Hoping the band could all hang out again the way they used to. Hoping a lot of things that made his drunk heart heavy. A hand slid beneath his dreadlocks and found the base of his neck, and he leaned backwards into it, moaning softly as fingers began to press in on stress knots and sore spots.

“You can’t fix everything,” Charles told him.

“ _Mm_...that’s rich coming from you.”

“Well, ah—” Charles started to argue, then kissed his scalp instead, exhaling against the skin. “No, I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”

“That’s right. And it’ll work out eventually. It has to.” Pickles’ eyes drifted shut under Charles’ expert care, letting himself be eased forwards and back by the rhythmic massage.

“I definitely admire your optimism, darling.”

“I admire your fuckin’...whatever you’re doin’ back there. _Mm_.”

“How long is a wedding reception meant to, ah, last, exactly?”

“I dunno.” Pickles cracked an eye open. “Why? You wanna duck out early?”

Charles spoke low against his ear. “There was mention earlier of bending me over a table, I believe. Would the bed in the master suite suffice?”

That was all the convincing Pickles needed, and they slipped away together hand-in-hand before the guests noticed they were missing the newlyweds.


End file.
